Sick Day
by lixabiz
Summary: He was sick, and he was alone. AyumuxHiyono, animeverse.
1. Sick Day

**Too Close for Comfort #1: Sick Day**

For the first time in years, Narumi Ayumu woke up and found that he couldn't move. His joints ached, his throat was on fire, and his head was a woollen, hazy cloud. Even during the height of his affairs with the Blade Children, through which he had endured more than a few sleepless nights, he had never felt _this _tired.

Which meant - he coughed until he thought a lung might come up - he was sick.

Rolling over feebly so that he was on his side, he forced one eye open to look at the clock on his nightstand. It was nearly noon. He'd slept clear through the alarm and then some.

The apartment was very, very quiet, aside from the sound of his neighbour's toddler thumping toys against the wall between their rooms. Ayumu rolled once more onto his back. His head hurt and he was hungry, but there didn't seem to be much he could do about either problem.

He was alone, after all. Madoka had made it a habit of not coming home for long stretches of time. Sometimes Ayumu wouldn't catch a glimpse of her for weeks, only to find her sleeping on the couch after school,fingers clutching some scrap of paper or other (he never peeked) and oblivious to his tiptoeing around as he made supper. Sometimes she woke up and they chatted, not awkwardly, but Ayumu's words always felt, inside, slightly forced; and Madoka's tackles and teasing didn't ring quite true, as though she were a clock set a few hours behind. She never stayed very long, either: Ayumu would go to bed with her in the next room, and wake up the next morning to an empty apartment and a note with his allowance attached on the kitchen table.

And so it was that he continued to learn new dishes, but the plates that came off his stove lightened on the onions, since no one liked them anymore (they'd grown on him, but that didn't matter), and occasionally he found himself baking cakes (which he almost hated, but that didn't matter either), or other things not in his taste, but were packed into his bento anyway (after all, he'd made them).

In between the cookbooks he read sappy love stories thrust on him in lieu of kumas and usagis to the face when he was declared to be too frigid and needed to feel some "emotion". They were _never_ good, and he would kill himself the day he even so much as had an inkling of some of the "emotions" the characters in these books often proclaimed they felt, usually in badly written prose.

A couple of those books were, in fact, on his nightstand. He'd thumbed through them the previous night, settling into bed earlier than usually because he felt tired and spent the better part of an hour rolling his eyes at the underlined passages (_He was grateful for her love and kindness and set out to thank her in everyway he could; including breakfast in bed every morning and roses before dinner) _before falling asleep.

----

One minute he was staring dizzily at the ceiling, the next he was half-conscious; woken by the loud banging at the door and the whirring of his cellphone, vibrating against the top of his drawer.

Groaning, he lifted himself out of bed, and pressed his hand against the wall to steady himself against the wave of vertigo that descended as soon as his bare feet touched the ground. It passed after a moment; and though he was immediately inflicted with a racking cough, he did, however scarcely, feel better than he had earlier. A brief glance at his window told him that it was dusk out.

He flipped open the phone and croaked, "I'm coming," before snapping it shut again and heading wobbily into the living room.

When Ayumu managed to get the lock open, a feat that proved to be rather difficult with shaky hands, the door swung open with such force he was nearly knocked over, and his ears met with a loud, concerned squeal. Maybe he should have just ignored it all together and gone back to bed.

Hiyono's arm shot out from the growing darkness to steady him. "Narumi-san! Are you okay?"

"Don't barge in like that," he said hoarsely, too weak to snap. "I'm fine."

"Narumi-san doesn't look fine," she said suspiciously, and lifted a hand towards his face, which he batted away. "Why didn't you call me?"

"I'm just sick, that's all. What are you doing here?"

Hiyono made an exasperated clucking noise with her tongue. "We can't keep standing in the doorway like this, it's cold out here! Come on -" she grabbed him by the crook of his elbow and shoved him inside, shutting the door behind her with such vehemence that Ayumu feared it would come right off it's hinges.

"It's spring," he said balefully, "It's not _cold_." It wasn't. The trees were dropping flowers and he had already tucked away his winter coat in the back of his closet.

"There's a chilly breeze outside," she said firmly, pushing him towards the couch. "And you're just wearing your pajamas, Narumi-san."

Unable to resist due to another coughing fit, Ayumu let himself be seated, rather forcefully, on the couch, and watched as various items - jacket, shoes, books, and grocery bags - fell off Hiyono and onto the floor. She gathered the grocery bags and set them on the kitchen counter, leaving everything else in a heap. Ayumu might have protested, but he was far more concerned with the contents of those bags and what Hiyono intended to do with them in his kitchen.

"Stop," he said. "I don't want you doing that."

There were no dishes anywhere, no crumbs, no signs of meals having been prepared. Hiyono swivelled around and met his glare straight on with an accusing gleam in her own gaze. "Narumi-san, have you eaten at all today?"

"Stay out of my kitchen," he tried to say, but his coughs intercept him again.

"You haven't, have you? Mou! Narumi-san, honestly, I thought you could take care of yourself better than this!"

"I was -" he wheezed, eyes watering, "-sleeping."

"Well, that's fine," she said, turning her attention to the counter again. To his alarm she began taking out distinctly _ingredient_-like things out of the bags - a container of eggs, some milk, a package of seaweed, and, inexplicably, a few boxes of pocky. "Narumi-san can go back to sleep, I'll take care of everything here."

He didn't think someone like Hiyono should say something like that with such confidence while standing in a kitchen. Especially not _his_ kitchen.

"I shouldn't have opened the door," he sighed.

She made a face at him over her shoulder, one that clearly said she was going to let that comment pass because he was too ill to know better. He wondered if he didn't prefer a shower of punches, or a lecture on how to properly show gratitude. Of course, none of that was as bad as Hiyono in his kitchen. Which was happening. And he didn't have the well-being of spirit or body to put a stop to it.

"I would have been here sooner," she started to say, turning on the stove (he winced at the sound), "but I had to stop by the supermarket. Oh, and I have Narumi-san's homework in my bag. Your class representative was nice enough to bring it to the clubroom at lunchtime."

He shut his eyes and muttered something to the ceiling. It was a gesture that someone who didn't know him well might have imagined was prayer. He snapped them back open again a few minutes later.

"What are you doing?"

"Okayu!" Hiyono replied brightly, "Just what Narumi-san needs! A good meal to restore your strength."

It was too late to stop her, and rice congee seemed like a simple enough dish that even Hiyono could make without much difficulty. Probably. He hoped.

Hiyono spent the next half-hour industriously beating eggs, stirring viciously, and generally chatting away about various things that Ayumu occasionally responded to over the lull of the tv, which he'd switched on to distract him from the disconcerting knowledge that he might end up poisoned before nightfall.

"It's ready!"

When she thrust the steaming bowl in front of him, Ayumu summoned as much dismay into his expression as he possibly could, to let her know that this was a one-time deal.

She smiled sweetly at him. "Unless Narumi-san is feeling too sick and would rather I feed -"

He snorted and took the bowl from her. Though, disturbingly... the idea had some appeal to it... but he chalked that down to the slight fever he was running addling up his brain. That would also explain why he was having trouble keeping track of what was happening on the sports program he was half-heartedly watching.

Hiyono was watching him expectantly, and lest she decide she really did have to spoon feed him, Ayumu gingerly lifted a spoonful of the thick gruel to his mouth and -

"How is it?" she asked, beaming eagerly.

He silently ate another spoonful.

"I knew it!" Hiyono exclaimed, grinning widely. "It's delicious, isn't it, Narumi-san? I knew it would be, food is always delicious when you make it with loving, gentle hands -"

"You put too much salt," he informed her.

Her face fell and she slumped back onto the couch. Pouting, she demanded, "Why is Narumi-san still eating it, then?"

"Because I'm hungry."

The programming on the TV switched over to an American sitcom that aired nightly, and the first laugh-track of the evening sounded through the apartment. Hiyono curled up on the cushions and tucked her feet under her knees, studying him keenly as she did so. Ayumu's brow wrinkled of its own accord, but he chose to bear the uncomfortable scrutiny in silence. Hiyono made a small noise - so soft that it was just exhaling, really - but there was a resigned edge to it, like a sigh. She had taken to doing that a lot lately, when she wasn't talking his ear off.

"Oh!" she said suddenly, sitting straight up. "I forgot!"

"What?"

"I forgot to bring medicine!" she said crossly, slapping her own forehead. "I'm sorry, Narumi-san!"

"I'll sleep it off,"he shrugged. Ayumu threw her a dry look. "If you ever go home and leave me alone, that is."

"Narumi-san is always alone," she declared suddenly and matter-of-factly. Something akin to fierceness in her eyes surprised him. "It's awful."

"It's peaceful," he said thickly, around a mouthful of congee, and ended up choking for his efforts. Hiyono hastily grabbed some tissues and handed him one. He didn't expect the hand that ran soothingly up and down his back. It was a simple, kind gesture, the kind Hiyono was terribly good at springing on him and startling him with. The kindness always surprised him.

Now that he had started coughing, it didn't seem to want to go away.

The concern in her eyes, as she hovered over him, still stroking his back, was almost touching, if Ayumu were given to being touched. His cough subsided, but his stomach chose to lurch unfortunately at that very moment. Vertigo returned and Ayumu leaned back as Hiyono took the bowl away from him with one hand, the other clutching his arm.

"I can't possibly go home," she said worriedly, "Not when Narumi-san's like this."

His head was still spinning but he opened his mouth to tell her something, he wasn't quite sure what, just that it should be something to put her mind at ease, but -

"Ne, Narumi-san?" She was biting her lip. "I think we need to call a doctor-"

"I don't need a doctor..." he said, trying to focus his train of thought on what he had been trying to say, but the words were slippery and vanished, half-formed, from his grasp. "I..."

He shook his head to clear the dizziness but it wouldn't dispel. The effort made him sweat. His head felt strange, heavy and imbalanced - it might have dipped forward, but for the hand that suddenly clamped onto his forehead, pushing his damp hair aside. In the background, the tv screen was a blur of coloured lights and nonsensical dialogue.

"Narumi-san," he heard her gasp, "You have a fever!"

_No,_ he thought deliriously, _that wasn't it. I... _what were the words again? The underlined ones? They had been pointed out because they were important. This he was sure of. _He was grateful for her love and kindness and-_ and what? He tried to remember.

Her hand was pressing itself all over his face, frantic, and the words kept circling in his head, _He was grateful for her love and kindness and-_

"I'm..." he managed to say, before his head dropped onto her shoulder and sleep dragged him under again.

----

A beam of sunlight and something soft brushing against his cheek drew Ayumu from a dream of sparse, grassy fields. He lay still as consciousness came to him, slowly becoming aware that he was not in bed, and that the softness that had touched his face was a hand, and that the hand was, likely, attached to the body he was currently using as a pillow.

He opened his eyes slowly. The blurry sight of a knee greeted him. As his vision adjusted to the brightly lit living room, he noticed that it was distinctively feminine, and that there was quite a stretch of exposed skin between it and the hem of a pleated grey skirt.

Now he was definitely awake, which meant he was somewhat embarrassingly aware of the fact that his right hand was bunched up in the skirt, and that his face was nestled against the humming warmth of Hiyono's stomach, rising slightly with each languid breath. She was sleeping, too, he surmised. Ayumu blinked; the hand resting on his head had shifted suddenly, sending his hair into his eyes and obscuring his vision.

There was a light rustling of fabric, and he felt the faint tremble of abdominal muscles against his ear as Hiyono woke and lifted her head. She froze immediately, and her breath caught, hand snatched away. He heard her gasp, and guessed that she had looked at her wristwatch. It had to be at least 8 AM, by now, judging from how bright it was.

She was, he knew, biting her lip and considering her options. In the end, he doubted that any amount of pity or concern for his now dissippated fever could actually keep her from attending school. He was proved correct by her subsequent attempts to delicately extricate herself out from under him.

Acting on impulse, he pretended to toss in his sleep and rolled over, effectively rendering Hiyono's efforts up to that point in vain. She made a frustrated little noise in response, at which he was hard pressed to suppress the smirk lurking dangerously beneath the carefully kept blank surface of his face.

Hiyono sighed. "If I didn't know better..."

She left the sentence unfinished, which left _him_ strangely bemused. But that thought was burnt away by the sensation of her fingertips brushing back the hair covering his eyes. She pressed her palm flat against his forehead. He admitted that it was a nice feeling: her hand was pleasantly cool on his skin.

"Thank goodness," she murmured, and lifted her hand gently away.

A few more minutes passed in silence. Ayumu thought he should move, stop pretending, but he didn't. The clock ticked in the background. Hiyono was definitely going to be late at this rate. He knew he was edging into shameless jerk territory now; she had, after all, specifically come over to take care of him while he was ill. She'd cooked for him - it was the thought that counted with that part - and had even let him sleep with his head on her lap all night. It occurred to him that the position couldn't have been comfortable for her.

"Narumi-san," she said softly, tapping on his cheek.

_Ah_. This was good, it spared him having to wake up on his own. He made an indeterminate noise.

"Narumi-san, I have to go to school..."

Ayumu grunted, and feigning the barest hint of annoyance, rolled off Hiyono just enough for her to slip out. He snuck a glance at her through his eyelashes, which he immediately regretted as it allowed him to catch the wince on her face as she stood, rubbing her knees. Rolling over again to face the back of the sofa, he tried to ignore the vague stirrings of guilt in his gut.

"Narumi-san?"

He responded with deliberately even, deep breaths.

"Being sick must have worn him out," she said to herself. The tenderness in her voice shocked him. "Narumi-san's usually such a light sleeper."

He didn't argue with this because he was asleep, but if he hadn't been, he wouldn't have argued with it, either. There was some more rustling and rummaging around as Hiyono gathered her things from the floor, where, to his annoyance, she'd unceremoniously dumped them yesterday.

She muttered something, headed towards the door - but here came a pause, then hesitant steps, then a hand on his shoulder. He sensed her bending over him - to check his temperature again? he wondered, puzzled - then, unexpectedly, a fleeting pressure on his cheek, near his temple, so fast it was not much more than a touch of lip to skin and a brief burst of warm breath.

Ayumu lay very still, listening as she let herself out, her pace quickening to a run as she headed towards school; listening until he couldn't hear her footsteps anymore.

He rolled onto his back, eyes propped open, and stared at the ceiling.

----

_To be continued..._


	2. Convalescence

**Convalescence**

Despite her best efforts, Hiyono couldn't pay attention in math class that morning. Her head was crammed too full of other thoughts to spare any room for calculus integration problems.

Not to mention she was still slightly sore from having spent a night on Narumi Ayumu's couch. She hadn't minded, really, that he had passed out on her lap. She had even managed to fall asleep herself after an hour or so of staring at his flushed face, alternating between taking guesses at his temperature with her fingertips and helplessly fanning him with her hand. But the sleep had been of that careful, unnatural variety; akin to very, very still slumber on a narrow top bunk, motionless and unsatisfying.

As for the kiss she'd planted on him... well, that had been a spur-of-the-moment impulse, and completely innocent. He'd looked so peaceful, even the little wrinkles in his brow had seemed to relax, and she'd been unable to resist. She bent her head lower over her textbook to hide the blush she could feel creeping over her face. This was thoroughly silly. After all, taking care of a dear friend in need was only natural. Narumi-san was a particularly dire case: he had no one to take care of him now that his sister had all but completely disappeared. Hiyono felt, with easily conjured conviction (perhaps too easily), that she was now responsible for his well-being.

Thinking of that dear friend made her wonder how he was faring now. She considered requesting permission to go to the bathroom to call and check up on him, but she had already asked at the beginning of the period, and the class was nearly over. Just as the thought occurred to her, the bell signaling the start of lunch rang out, and Hiyono bolted from her seat, yanking her cell phone from her pocket as she made her way to the clubroom.

He answered the phone with a tired sounding "Yo."

"Hello, Narumi-san, are you feeling better?"

"Oi. You just called and asked me that an hour ago."

"Well, do you feel better?"

He coughed meaningfully, and she took that as a clear 'no'. "How am I supposed to get better if you keep bothering me?"

"Mou! Narumi-san is so cold," she said, drawing back from the cellphone to glare at it. To think, she'd be worrying about him all morning, and here he was, using that tone of voice! "It won't kill you to appreciate my concern!"

"You shouldn't get so angry at someone who is ill," he drawled, as airily as a person with clogged sinuses could sound. "I might relapse under the added stress."

She pouted out of habit. If there was one thing she wished for when it came to Narumi-san - and she wished for a lot of things in that aspect, secretly - it would be for a little more solicitousness from him. She didn't quite dare to ask for affection, or tenderness; but something every now and then, just one sentence would do, that was not filtered through sarcasm or an air of resigned tolerance.

He coughed into the silence on the line. "Shouldn't you be eating lunch?" His tone was dry, and she understood the underlying implication: _whose bento do you steal when I'm not there?_

"What about Narumi-san?" she asked, sure that she knew the answer.

"I ate the rest of the okayu."

Now that was surprising. He must have been starving to bother with leftovers - she'd never known him to not eat freshly made food.

"If I had woken up earlier," she fretted, "I could have cooked something."

The other end of the line was suspiciously silent. Had he fallen asleep? Fainted from hunger?

"Narumi-san?"

"Hn."

"What's wrong, Narumi-san? Are you sleepy? Is your fever back?"

"No," he said.

"Why are you so quiet? Does your throat hurt?"

"I'm appreciating your concern."

Hiyono's kuma hand - the one not holding a cellphone - twitched. Then, with that well-practiced sigh that was just a breath, the one she'd perfected so he wouldn't give her that look he always did, she said primly into the phone: "You're welcome."

"Hn."

It wasn't as though she'd really expected him to say thank you. She was sure he was grateful, deep down, and would let her know in his own roundabout way, as long as it didn't hurt his pride too much. For someone who constantly brooded over his so-called shortcomings, Narumi Ayumu certainly put a lot of effort into protecting his cool, impassive image.

"Hey."

"What is it, Narumi-san?"

"What did you say this morning? Before you left. I didn't hear it."

She frowned, puzzled. "I didn't say anything..."

"Ah. I must have dreamed it, then." There was a bit of static on the line, and a resounding click shortly followed his curt, "Ja."

Hiyono gave her cellphone a look of dismay before pressing the 'end call' button. Then she opened the clasp on her notebook and turned on the computer. If Narumi-san had been present, he would have noted the uncharacteristic manner in which she proceeded to ignore her untouched bento completely.

----

Once school let out, Hiyono hurried home to shower and change out of her wrinkled school uniform and into clean, comfortable clothes. Then, after a couple of necessary stops, she arrived on Narumi-san's doorstep.

He let her in without a word, clad in grey sweatpants and a black shirt, his hair slightly damp. He must have taken a shower in an attempt to clear his sinuses. The way he was sniffling told her it hadn't quite worked. She tried not to stare, but...

It wasn't that he didn't look good in his school uniform, which he did, a fact easily confirmed by the occasional longing glances thrown his way by various female classmates. And of course she'd seen him in t-shirts and jeans before. He'd always maintained a carefully cultivated air of carelessness when it came to dressing, leaving collars open and his school jacket unbuttoned, but even in that there was a certain methodic neatness to it that was missing now, thanks to the flu. Or perhaps he just no longer cared how she saw him. That was an intriguing prospect, one that Hiyono would have to return to and ponder on later.

He looked, for lack of a better word, so very _touchable_, despite the watery eyes and red nose, telltale signs of the flu. His hair was mussed in the most adorable way and there was a faint imprint of the upholstery fabric of the couch on his right cheek serving as a reminder of a recent nap.

He grunted a hello and went back to lie down on the couch. She left her things on the floor again - if it bothered him, he didn't say so - and flopped on the carpet next to him.

"Narumi-san, are you feeling better?"

"You're worse than a broken record," he remarked, not unkindly, his voice thick-sounding and deeper than usual. "No, I don't feel better. My head feels like a balloon and I can't breathe properly. My body aches all over, and my throat feels like it's on fire. I couldn't sleep all day, and when I finally did, you called me and woke me up. Twice."

She had never heard complaining so devoid of, well, complaint. He listed off his afflictions in the same tone of voice other people used while reading grocery lists. Strangely, Hiyono found this part of his personality very endearing, even if it couldn't be healthy, to hold so much in. It was what made him Narumi-san: the ability to meet with misfortune and take it headlong, combined with that deeply misplaced belief that he was somehow inferior. Anything bad that happened to him was, to his mind, only to be expected. She was filled with a rush of something she couldn't quite put a name to; only that it was warm and overwhelming and made her want to cradle his head on her knees again and sing him back to sleep.

Instead she stood up, skipping over to where her bag had fallen over, and retrieved her precious notebook. She beamed brightly at him. "I have just the thing you need, Narumi-san!"

He cocked an eyebrow back at her, picking up with one hand a cookbook laying facedown on the coffee table.

"I researched treatments for Narumi-san's symptoms!"

The expression on his face normally would have generated vocal offense from Hiyono, but for the lingering desire she had to coddle him. He started coughing again, so pitifully she couldn't bear to hold anything against him.

"Did you check your temperature, Narumi-san?" she asked, remembering suddenly.

"I don't have a fever."

She pointed out that he'd had one last night, and that it had also left him unconscious.

"That was last night," he replied, stubborn as ever.

Admitting defeat, Hiyono cleared her throat and began to read.

"Mix two tablespoons flour with one teaspoon of dry mustard and half a teaspoon of baking soda. Add one ounce of hot water in small amounts to make a thick paste. Spread the paste across a towel, fold in half and apply to chest." She paused, wishing her voice hadn't stammered at the end of that sentence. The thought of applying things to Narumi-san's chest brought a flush to her cheeks; Hiyono snuck a look at him to see if he'd noticed. He had the cookbook on his face, so she continued, "Don't let the paste touch the skin, it will burn -"

"I don't have any dry mustard," Narumi-san's muffled voice said from beneath the book.

Hiyono flipped the page, relieved (she was _not_ disappointed). "How about this one? Melt lamb fat in a skillet and add one cup of boiled milk and one tablespoon of honey -"

"That's disgusting."

"It is, isn't it?" She agreed, scanning down the page. The rest of the cures she'd copied down didn't seem like they'd fare any better against Narumi-san in his current mood. _Well_, she thought, shutting the book, _there was no helping it_.

"You're going into the kitchen again," he said, propping himself up on his elbows. The cookbook slid off his face.

There was no need for that tone, she thought, shooting him a peevish look. But all she said was, "Yes, Narumi-san."

He turned back to his cookbook as she carefully began washing rice and cracking open eggs. Either he lacked the energy to protest or - she glanced at the bowl in the sink, that had been full of last night's okayu and couldn't resist the small smile that curved across her lips. Even if he'd only eaten it out of desperation (a little voice in her head asked _but why? He could have just ordered something, but he ate it_, which she ignored) it still made her happy.

Watching him scarf it down afterwards turned her smile into blatant, foolish grinning. She had learned her lesson and had not bothered to add salt at all, providing him with a shaker instead.

"It's more delicious today, isn't it, Narumi-san?"

"It's better," he allowed, grudgingly. It wasn't high praise, but she cheerfully accepted it nevertheless. There were a lot of snarky things he could have said, like flavouring being the highest art of cooking for instance, but he didn't. Still grinning, she collected the bowl from him, skipped back into the kitchen and rolled up her sleeves to wash the dishes lying in the sink.

He muttered, under his breath, something along the lines of "you don't have to do that," but Hiyono drowned him out with a rousing rendition of her favourite ditty.

"Must you sing that strange song?"

"Narumi-san complains about my song," she said, "But I know you don't mind. It's better than silence, isn't it? It has to be better than being by yourself."

"Not really," he said indifferently. "I pretty much live alone, now. I'm used to being by myself."

And there it was - the illness worse than the one in his throat and nose and lungs. She was struck again by that aching realisation that he was alone, and if left to his own devices, would always be alone, running away from abandonment. It horrified her to think that a person would willingly subject himself to such a fate without putting up a fight.

Dishes forgotten, she moved back towards the living room, wiping her wet hands on her skirt. She inhaled deeply, drumming up the comforting words that probably wouldn't help, but were worth a try, anyway: "Wherever she is... Madoka-oneesan is worrying about Narumi-san being lonely, I know she is. She might not be here to take care of you, but -"

"I took care of her in my brother's place," he corrected, staring at the skyline through the window. The light cast strange shadows on his face and the frayed neckline of his t-shirt. "I worried more than she did."

"That doesn't mean she didn't take care of Narumi-san in her own way," Hiyono said gently, approaching him slowly. She sat on the coffee table and gave into that earlier temptation to touch him, taking his hand, squeezing lightly. He didn't pull away or react visibly. "That's what family is for. Letting someone else do all the worrying."

"That's selfish."

"No, it's not. You let the people who care about you do all the worrying for you and in return you do all their worrying for them." She tilted her head, and decided to be brave. He would understand. He was Narumi Ayumu, he understood everything. "I'll take care of Narumi-san while Madoka-oneesan's away."

Narumi-san looked at her and then away. He was silent for a while. Finally, he said, "It's going to get dark soon."

All the apprehension and the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding faded away, leaving a lingering regret behind. He was telling her to go home, and she didn't know how to refuse.

"I can't walk you home," he said, sounding tired. He was still staring out the window and they were still holding hands.

Of course she hadn't expected him to walk her home, not with that weary cough. She didn't usually require it of him, anyway, and opened her mouth to say so, but he spoke first.

"You might as well stay here." He met her eyes, gaze soft and uncertain under the resolution in his voice. "Stay and let me sleep, and you can do the worrying in the morning."

She acquiesced.

----

Hiyono continued to come over every day that weekend (though she didn't stay a third night), and by Tuesday he was well enough to attend school again. He silently cursed whatever gods or powers-that-be that had given him the flu in the first place, because Hiyono was becoming unbearable. There had been a certain level of comfort in her company at home, but at school she kept nagging, refusing to let him nap on the roof ("You'll catch a cold sleeping in the open! Narumi-san can sleep just as well in the clubroom.") and forcing him to consume health-boosting drinks with every meal.

And so the next week passed. By the end of it, Ayumu was perfectly fine, though one thing remained curious to him: Hiyono hadn't so much as glanced at his lunchboxes that entire time, let alone steal them.

"Narumi-san has just recovered," she said, with the air of a matryr, "It wouldn't be right if you went hungry. You need to restore your health."

"Hn."

"Is that all?" She said, hands on her hips and clearly disappointed with his reaction to her sacrifice. "I took good care of Narumi-san and that's the thanks I get? You should be repaying me with a feast!"

He was holding the book she had lent to him two weeks ago, staring intently at something on the page it was opened on. His lips were pressed together in a tight line - not displeased, per se, but... intense. Thoughtful. Hiyono wondered what part of that book he was reading. She was rather delighted he'd found something so gripping in it - usually he complained about how insipid the books she gave him were.

"Narumi-san?"

He didn't say anything after that, responding only in grunts and looks for the rest of the day. It wasn't until they were walking home together, approaching the figurative fork in the road where their paths split every day that he stopped and turned to her.

"A feast, huh?" he said slowly, meeting her eyes. "That's what you really want?"

Hiyono clasped her hands together disbelievingly, eyes shining. "Yes!"

"Then you can choose the menu," he said gruffly, thrusting the cookbook that had been dangling from his right hand at her. It was not a confession, nor was it affectionate or tender. But as with many things concerning Narumi Ayumu these days, it was far better than she had expected, and Hiyono accepted wonderingly but happily, grinning from ear to ear.

----

_fin._


End file.
